What Would Abbot Suger Say Today?

"The dull mind rises to truth through that which is material. And, in seeing this light, is resurrected from its former submersion." ~Abbot Suger

I'd like to thank you for meeting with me Mr. Warbucks, and I'm glad to hear that Peter, Edmund, and Lucy are all enjoying the school year so far. I enjoyed watching you quaff a pint of fresh brewed root beer with Peter at our Medieval Feast earlier this year--it is one of my favorite events of the year. 

As you know, our school hopes to renovate our downtown property, including a 120-year-old Gothic-style church honored with a state historical marker. There are many practical benefits the school hopes to achieve with this renovation, such as bringing our entire student body together in one building, reducing the burden on our local Church ministry partner, and returning a historic landmark back to its former glory in our city. But I want you to see the grander vision behind and beyond these modest aims, because I'd like you to be a cornerstone donor of this restoration project, contributing the first 15% to the $1.5 million budget; $225,000. I know that's a lot to ask, but let me put it into perspective.

Perhaps you've seen the Abbey of St. Denis in France, renovated by Abbot Suger in the 12th century? Suger raised an enormous amount of wealth to build the basilica of the Abbey--money that could have been allocated toward the feeding of the poor or the relief of widows or a host of other humanitarian needs surrounding him. Why did he build a basilica? He wanted there to be a place where Divine truth could be discovered and contemplated for generations--a symbol of Christ's glory and His glorification of His Bride. 

You and I both believe that the Classical Christian Education Veritas provides your grandchildren is the richest inheritance they could receive, and it is no less true for the other members of Christ's body and our neighbors in this county. Like the Abbey of St. Denis, the church we want to restore will serve as a symbol for our current families, and for their children and their children's children for generations to come--a symbol of the wisdom and virtue of men passed down through the ages and brought under the banner of aegis of Christ and His Church. The vision of Classical Christian Education will become more visible, more tangible, more glorious to those who are looking for something better for their own children, and I hope you can see the value of it too. Are you willing to set this first cornerstone of the vision into the earth?

My Attempt at Branding

In preparation for answering a hypothetical scenario, I wrote the following "sales pitch" to parents in the Bible Belt who might inquire about Classical Christian Education. Despite being a student of rhetoric for half of my life, I don't think persuasion is in my blood. 

Why Classical Christian Education?

 

Why do we educate our children? What do we hope it will make of them? If our education is for acquiring college scholarships, job placements, career paths, and stability for the future, what makes us different from the atheist who denies God, the soul, and life after death? If we make no distinction, our children won’t either, and when they enter a world where remaining faithful to Christ threatens the things we’ve taught them to seek they will jettison Christ for earthly success. Our children will gain the whole world and lose their souls.

 

Paul put it this way to the Corinthians, who were also tempted to seek the wrong things:

 

For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. 19 For it is written:

 

“I will destroy the wisdom of the wise,

And bring to nothing the understanding of the prudent.”

 

20 Where is the wise? Where is the scribe? Where is the disputer of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of this world? 21 For since, in the wisdom of God, the world through wisdom did not know God, it pleased God through the foolishness of the message preached to save those who believe. 22 For Jews request a sign, and Greeks seek after wisdom; 23 but we preach Christ crucified, to the Jews a stumbling block and to the Greeks foolishness, 24 but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. 25 Because the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men.

 

Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians 1:18-25 answer the question, Why Classical Christian Education?

 

Wisdom shows us how to live well in the world. Education offers wisdom to its students. At least that’s what education should do. Acquiring wisdom requires more than being around kind people who will keep us safe and provide us with facts and skills. Paul says the message of the cross is the power of God, power that “will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and bring to nothing the understanding of the prudent.” In other words, those who don’t learn according to the message of the cross will find their “wisdom” brought to nothing. To learn Christ’s message of the cross requires more than learning its truth. It includes learning how to abide in the truth. What is the message of the cross? In 1 Corinthians it is chiefly acknowledging that human weakness—a humble, poor spirit we might say—is God’s chosen vessel of demonstrating His wisdom and power. In one sense education according to the cross is a revelation of man to himself to humble him—I am a mortal, full of vice and corruption. We approach learning in the double darkness of sin and ignorance. In another sense education according to the cross is a revelation of God to man to glorify him—God became man to transform my mortality into immortality, my vice and corruption into incorruptible virtue. We approach learning in the hope of becoming divine.

 

Jews request a sign and Greeks seek after wisdom, but we preach Christ crucified, to the Jews a stumbling block and to the Greeks foolishness. The Jews are the people of God who have rejected the message of the cross in hopes of earthly gain, though they possess the oracles of God. Greeks are those who long for knowledge and experience of the divine, but cannot submit their “wisdom” to the “foolishness” of God’s revelation in Christ, the God-man. Classical education, in its most basic form, is remembering; guarding the memory of man’s best efforts—honoring our forefathers that we may inherit God’s promise. We guard the people of God’s best efforts to preserve the Way of Christ against the temptations of the world. We guard the City of Man’s best efforts to “seek the Lord, in the hope that they might grope for Him and find Him” against the despair of pride. If we want to go further up and further into the wisdom and power of God, we must stand upon their shoulders. And isn’t this what we should want education to make of our children?

On the Use of Fairy Stories in Communal Education

Education in a diverse community introduces difficulties that don't exist (or exist less characteristically) within an individual family. Parents have particular convictions and affections, which they pass on to their children directly and indirectly. When parents collaborate with one another to educate their children, whether in a co-op or in a school, they bring not only the convictions and affections they share, but also those that differ. An important conversation involves discovering what differences are irresolvable, but that's a conversation for another time. Assuming that differences do not pose irresolvable difficulties:

What can families do to help one another stay united in the education of their children?

Sharing common stories offers a means for navigating differences, because shared stories can help people identify wise, virtuous principles and choices in the midst of their differences. In lived reality wise, virtuous principles and choices become confused by the naturally limited perspective of humans and by selfish desires that oppose wisdom and virtue. Fairy stories provide the kind of story well-suited to discover wisdom and virtue since they involve normal characters in abnormal adventures that put vices and virtues on display clearly and distinctly. Fairy stories do not involve ambiguity about what is right or wrong, virtuous or vicious, good or evil; and so the reader or listener knows which characters, motives, and behaviors are worthy of emulation, and why; and which characters, motives, and behaviors are worthy of renunciation, and why. Fairy stories inhabit an imaginative moral reality that provides a clear lens through which one may look at his own moral reality, which is harder to evaluate, but made easier with a "fabulous lens".

The Lord of the Rings may not be the greatest story ever told, but because it is a fairy tale accessible to people of all levels of maturity it serves as a clear lens through which to evaluate lived reality. For the sake of the following imaginative experiment, suppose the co-op or school requires all members of every family to read (or be read to) The Lord of the Rings each year as part of their enrollment and re-enrollment. Now suppose two parents differ on the amount of rigor a teacher requires of the students. Suppose as well that the rigor-loving parent and teacher have a wiser perspective than the rigor-doubtful parent. Further suppose the differences between the parents include expectations from within their families and churches, but the educational standards of the co-op or school favors the rigorous position. One could (and should) appeal to theological principles, and to hoped-for family outcomes, but since these are not closely shared, the appeal to a commonly shared story might serve better for understanding and agreement.

How might The Lord of the Rings provide a clear lens in this hypothetical situation?

The rigor-loving parent (or teacher) could remind the rigor-doubtful parent of the Scouring of the Shire. Gandalf, the wise and powerful wizard, leaves the younger, less experienced, and less powerful hobbits (Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin) alone to defeat the numerous enemies who have taken over their homeland. The parent could recall that the hobbits make short work of their enemies--an impossible victory but for the fruit produced in them by the year-long journey to destroy the Ring of Power. One could ask, "What made the hobbits brave enough, temperate enough, wise enough, strong enough, and just enough to defeat their enemies without becoming evil themselves?" Of course it was the much greater trials they suffered together on the quest under the tutelage of more mature souls. If the purpose of education is to grow wise,  virtuous, and strong, then teachers should strive to provide to children with opportunities to do things that are beyond their powers to perform easily, perfectly, without the possibility for failure, or without the need to rely upon more mature souls to guide them.

It is not certain that such appeals would be successful, but where shared stories persist, and especially where they are loved and admired, fodder for such encouragement remains available in ways that transcend the differences within the community.

The Intellectual Life as an Intellectual Labor, Introduction

This month a book club I participate in is reading A.G. Sertillanges' book, The Intellectual Life. The book is a lengthy meditation on and preparation for the life given by the book's title. I've read it once before and was excited by many of its insights, but I've not made much conscious use of them (I do hope some profitable unconscious effects have been produced!). This time around I'm attempting to be more intentional in my approach. The remaining post is an outline of that intention.

Phase I: Tilling & Sowing

In the first phase of reading The Intellectual Life, I'll be writing meditative summaries of the book's chapters after reading each one. Sertillanges' book is very well organized and lends itself to easy summary. The ease is dangerous, however, since it would be deceptive to think that one has profited by summarizing the points of each chapter and its sections. Sertillanges' language is so simple that it gives the appearance of ease, where great difficulty is actually present. Thus, I've added the task of "meditative" to my summaries; allowing room for my thoughts to analogize, apply, question, and so forth, and put all of that into written words. I'll then type the meditative summaries on this blog, critically reviewed and potentially substantively altered.

Phase II: Watering & Weeding

If it can be done, I am hoping to draw in a couple of the other men from book club to develop some specific applications of Sertillanges' book in some aspect of our own lives, whether as part of our individual development, or as a part of our vocations (several of us are teachers, who are paid to pursue an intellectual life, in my opinion). The very first chapter of Sertillanges' book emphasizes the necessity of community both as a necessary part of the intellectual vocation as a productive art (giving it life & health), as well as a recipient of the intellectual vocation's produce (partaking of its fruit). Phase II will be harder to accomplish, but will certainly make the fruit of higher quality and of greater quantity.

Phase III: Harvesting & Feasting

Should the work reach completing, there should be some fruits to be enjoyed and shared with others. There are some vague ideas in my mind of what fruit might result (curricular changes, pedagogical changes, articles written, lectures given, seminars conducted, etc.) but there will be plenty of room for surprise, especially if some non-teachers are able to join in the labor.

Phase IV: Composting & Reproducing

In the wake of our feasting, I hope the leftovers will lead into future activities of like kind, whether they involve repeating The Intellectual Life, or moving on to a different book, or developing an analogous project with some other medium or means of application. This is the vaguest and least imaginable phase, since it is so dependent upon the labors that have only just begun. However, I hope to look back upon this beginning in a few months, or a year, or more, and find that it was not wholly in vain.

The Cornered Wounded

Bear with me as I tease out an analogy. Like all analogies, it will break down, but I'm curious to see what the correspondences offer.

Imagine sin as a wound upon the soul. Like physical wounds, sin causes pain, but certain kinds of attention to the wound also produce a temporary relief. To heal a wound causes pain, but generally increases discomfort rather than offering immediate relief. Indeed, sometimes healing the wound requires removal of a portion of the body, and in the case of the soul, the operation is more like curing cancer than, say, a laceration, since 1) the soul is simple and indivisible, and 2) is therefore effected entirely by the sin, rather than in a "part."

Imagine humans as animals. Like animals, humans have instinctual patterns governed by an innate nature. If an object comes flying by a man's eye, he will blink. If a woman trips and nearly stumbles over a precipice, her heartbeat increases and adrenaline pumps through her body, preparing it for the perceived injury that is possible. When cornered, an animal will make a show of size, sound, and fierceness in order to intimidate a perceived predator into flight. Barring that, the animal will fight with abandon, until either the predator is neutralized, or the opportunity for flight presents itself.

The physical realities of wounds and animal instincts are useful analogies for the spiritual situation that humans face with one another. When a man is in sin, there is a kind of pleasure he gets from indulging the sin, even though he may (depending upon how self-deceived) regret the indulgence later. When the sin is exposed to the Balm of Christ offered in the Gospel, there is a real chance that the response will be more like the cornered animal than a lovesick orphan. This can happen in different ways, though. For the creature who cannot imagine healing, or has grown to love the wound and believe it to be natural to her soul, the instinct of ferocity at being cornered is truly a response to perceive predation--they sense the immanence of death (i.e., my way of being must be no more), and the response is threatening, shouting, violence, even murderous violence.

For the creature who is merely shocked at the pain of the Gospel, the bowing up may be more like an involuntary response to pain than an instinctual response to predation. Once past the initial shock, the posturing resides into something more normal, perhaps even curious as to what this new intrusion into her environment means.

The effects of applying Christ to the problem of sin is not limited to unbelievers, either. Christians can respond to Christ in the flesh or in the spirit, and often times there is a measure of confusion whilst the two opposing natures fight for mastery of the soul's affections, beliefs, and overwhelming desire. The difference is that the Christian always has the Spirit united with her soul in such a way as to give opportunity for a willing reception of Christ's balm applied to the sin. For the unbeliever, there is no guarantee that the Spirit will be working in that one's or another's soul for reception, or, that the work will be one of union (i.e. the Spirit exerts influence over the soul, but not through uniting with it, at least not in a vital way).

What's the use of such an analogy? For one it appears to engender pity, insofar as one is already able to pity wounded animals whose response to one's aid may be hostile, or even fatal. Another is that it affords a measure of patience and circumspection for the believer, who, though he or she is a new creation, still carries around habits and instincts of the flesh. A romantic mind tends to identify the spontaneous, immediate, and intutitive response with authenticity, truth, or even the work of the Spirit; but such things can as easily be the instincts of a wounded (fatally, but still in its death throes) flesh. It can be mastered, but not if one doesn't recognize its presence in the reaction to the balm of Christ.

The Measure of Man

The pursuit of human excellence is the original and loftiest pursuit ever undertaken by man. It drove Adam to rebel, Achilles to fight, Plato to contemplate the verities, and the Son of God to take up human flesh.

There have been a multitude of pathways toward perfection pursued by men. They are as so many facets of a diamond, splintering light into an array of colors, now dazzling, now captivating, now titillating the spirited part of the human soul to renew its own efforts to exceed its capacities and become, well, Divine.

In Greece, men became gods by physical and mental prowess, exhibited through fearless acts of courage in battle, ingenuity in labor, craftiness in speech, shrewdness in policy, wit in the company of friends and ecstasy in the embrace of a lover. Rome was an homage to Greece, which was itself a variation on a theme by the cultures of the Ancient Near East, with their exhibitions of violence and sexual manipulation of the gods.

The measure of man was manifest in his power to accomplish whatsoever he willed, and to will nothing less than what excelled the capacities of all other men. This spirit endures today in every corner of Western Culture. Man wants to show his worth through the domination of every undertaking. Is it any wonder that video games captivate the imaginations of youth, who lack the means to ascend, but are overflowing with the passion to do so? Video games allow one to taste the superhuman qualities by means of simulation, at once satisfying the passion, but at the same time stultifying power to ascend in the natural world. So too many of the musical and theatrical choices available play into the same passion, and resort to the same means of simulation to achieve the temporary fix. Music that highlights ecstatic and erotic love, wealth and fame beyond measure, domination through expressions of anger, domination, or control are available at a hand's random snatch from the shelves. Movies portray sex that evokes cries of ecstasy, or limitless cognitive prowess available upon instantaneous conjuring, or physical capacities to endure pain or overcome obstacles that are by implication superhuman, or even explicitly so. Even outside the acknowledged realms of simulation, where "reality" is supposed to take place, a simulacra of superhuman images predominates. The television personality with the perfect complexion, quickest wit, or most incisive analysis must also appear as natural and unscripted as possible. Celebrities from all areas of life, whether sports, business, entertainment, religion, what have you are portrayed in glorious perfection until a relatively minor and all-too-human flaw or mistake becomes the fodder for pretenders to the throne to devour in all the splendor of unmitigated envy.

Protagoras is credited with saying that of all things the measure is man. From one vantage point, the empirical one at least, this is true. Man does measure all things--evaluating them scrupulously or unscrupulously. The other things in the world do not measure. But taken in another way, Protagoras' claim is patently false. Man is not the standard by which man measures. If this were so, perfection, superhuman qualities, the qualities of divinity, would not be that by which man measures--for they are not what man is, at least not by the same empirical test that acknowledges man as that thing that measures all things. No, man measures himself against his idea of God, and insofar as man's position toward the One True God is rebellious, he cannot accept the One True God as the One by which to measure himself. Rather, he must judge by the false image, the idol, the supplanter god who serves as the placeholder for the Triune God. No Christian who has a modicum of Biblical knowledge could deny the pervasiveness of idolatry, nor fail to acknowledge it as an exchange of Truth for Lies.

And yet.

And yet Christians more often than not measure by the measurements of pagan and infidel idolaters. Christians measure one another by the topics of the classical encomium:

What is the greatness of your race?
What is the greatness of your country?
What is the greatness of your ancestors?
What is the greatness of your parents?
What is the greatness of your intellectual education?
What is the greatness of your training in skills?
What is the greatness of your cultural knowledge?
What is the greatness of your mind?
What is the greatness of your body?
What is the greatness of your fortune?
How do you compare to the greatness of others?

One can craft the pretense that such measurements are simply instrumental--one is not judging anyone's "true worth" by such standards, after all. But I remain skeptical. I don't see alternative measurements very often, unless it is something like, "judge not, lest you be judged," which sounds more like a defense against one's own failings being declared than it does a plea for an alternative measure of excellence.

If not these things, then, what is the measure of man?

When one considers the life of Christ, by what measure will His life be discovered as the most excellent of all, the one that displays humanity at its most excellent? He was not from a great race, country, ancestors, or parents. Though few would argue against his capacity for knowledge, skill, and cultural awareness, no one could seriously maintain that he exhibit any of those to the highest degree during his lifetime. Nor did his mind, body, or fortunes seem altogether more excellent than all other men. He does not compare well, and even the long train of unfaithful admirers of Jesus cherry pick ideas of his that could have and may have originated before him or gained more potent expression after him.

With what measure, then? Consider the negative. At what point did Christ endure, undergo, take up what no man before, or after him, could? It is not hard to conceive that another man might be wounded more grievously than Christ, and remain courageous and stalwart. It is not hard to conceive that another man might be scorned more than Christ was, and come through undaunted. It is not hard to conceive that another man might be more honored than Christ was in his life, and remain remarkably humble.

What then? What did Christ undergo than no man could before him, or after? The just penalty for the sins of the world. Consider what it must have taken for a man to endure the unmitigated wrath of God poured out for every offense, and to do so without guilt or cause for condemnation. The ultimate humiliation, the ultimate denial of one's human excellence. Surely this was something Christ endure that no man before or after him could.

Even so, the negative construction beckons the question: if it was by enduring the wrath of God that Christ exceeded all other men, what was it that enabled Him to endure, the positive quality that was able to overcome? If wrath is an outpouring of hatred, the rejection of worth or value or excellence; then would not love be that which would need to be greater in order to endure? This seems most fitting. Only the man who was most beloved by God (the Being excelling all others in Love) could endure the greatest measure of wrath. Christ, the Son of God, was so loved by God that He could not only endure the shame and injustice of the world, but also willingly take upon Himself their due penalty for their transgressions, the wrath of God.

The most astounding aspect of it all is that in being the man most beloved by God, Christ was also the man most capable of loving, and so poured out his love upon men, that they too could become the most beloved of God--the very means by which human excellence reached its apex; the very means by which the human is made partaker of Divinity, of Divine Love.

The measure of a man's greatness is in how much he is loved. Those who are beloved of God are the men who are the greatest, who are granted participation in the divine nature. Those who pour out the greatest love toward others reveal themselves to be those who partake most fully in the divine nature, for their capacity to love is proportionate to the measure of love they receive from the Father. No greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one's life for his friends.

Wherein "difficulty" is really just how things are supposed to work

Why does God delight in difficulty, while man is so content to be at ease? It is tempting to examine the curse in Genesis three and imagine how supple and responsive Creation must have been to Adam's efforts before his Grand Rebellion, but there is no hint that the labor would have been easy for all of that perfection. Rather, the only indication seems to be that man's labor would not be fruitless (thorns and thistles choking to death) or debilitating (sweat of the brow implying painful exertion). 

I don't think that one could say Adam would not need to be daily wrapping together grapevines into some shapely order, or disentangling them with great care when they had grown waywardly in the night. I don't think that one could say little Cain and Abel wouldn't have required a great deal of patience as they learned from their parents the things that were new and at which they were unskilled. God Himself waited when Adam named each creature that He trotted before the man, all the while knowing that none of them would be adequately suited. God could have told Adam as much, and perhaps Adam would have taken God's word for it, but Adam's knowledge would have been far less intimate than it was as a result of the long process of investigation. God, who enjoys everything He does after some fashion, surely delighted in watching Adam learn, however slowly or rapidly Adam was able to draw his conclusions about each beast.

Indeed, as one reflects upon the tasks that seem most difficult--getting a child to learn, teaching a new skill to an unskilled worker, waiting for all of the aspect of a planned event to come together, gathering the scads of data that trickle in bit by bit by bit--they seem to be difficult not insomuch as they are fruitless or debilitating, but rather insofar as our capacity to enjoy the labor is deficient. The intemperance of wanting to get the expected result from the labor apart from the difficulties associated with the labor thwarts one's enjoyment of the labor itself--such intemperance is the thorn that chokes the life our of the growth God seeks to develop in us.

How did we get to be in this situation where false ideals persist about our labor: that results must be immediate, tangible, and fully formed at every stage of our efforts? Perhaps part of the problem is the way in which the corruption of sin bends our attentiveness; shaping our expectations. Sin, arising as it does from corrupt desires, is self-absorption. James seems to hint at this problem in his rebuke in the opening verses of chapter four:

Where do wars and fights come from among you? Do they not come from your desires for pleasure that war in your members? 2 You lust and do not have. You murder and covet and cannot obtain. You fight and war. Yet[a] you do not have because you do not ask. 3 You ask and do not receive, because you ask amiss, that you may spend it on your pleasures. 4 Adulterers and[b] adulteresses! Do you not know that friendship with the world is enmity with God? Whoever therefore wants to be a friend of the world makes himself an enemy of God. 5 Or do you think that the Scripture says in vain, “The Spirit who dwells in us yearns jealously”? 6 But He gives more grace. Therefore He says: “God resists the proud, But gives grace to the humble."

James acknowledges that our displeasure arises from the self-absorbing nature of our desires for pleasure. We want what we want, but when we do not receive (did we not think to ask?). We grumble and fight and steal to get it because God has refused it to us (why should He give when we've purposed to abuse it?). God resists such prideful grasping, since such grasping is a being-for-death.

When I grow angry that my child does not fulfill my expectations, do I do well to be upset?

When I get incensed that my student fails to follow my wishes to the exact letter, am I seeing my labor rightly?

When I grow bitter that my colleague cannot seem to "get over" his particular faults, is it from justice or from inconvenience that I condemn?

I do not mean to imply that expectations of results are of necessity flawed. No doubt Adam would have to develop some expectations for how his labor would go, even in paradise, since he had many things over which he was to labor. But when one's expectations are thwarted, this too is from the hand of God, and our reaction demonstrates our own orientation toward Providence. Is God not patient with us? Has He not borne with our stupidity, our rebelliousness, our incapacity? Has He not done so to an exponentially greater degree than we shall ever bear with another soul, indeed all other souls, in our own responsibilities and tasks?

Rome was not built in a day, the Oak of Great Girth and expansive shade did not grow in a fortnight, and no human soul (excepting perhaps Enoch), no matter the greatness of its growth, has even reached full maturity in this course of life in this broken body.

What then shall deliver our minds from captivity to the discontentedness of misplaced desires? Surely the love of Christ. If self-absorption wrecks upon the rocks of wretched desires, contentedness must embark unto the safe harbors of Christ's handiwork on our behalf. Chronicling the patience of Christ toward oneself cannot but make evident the great discrepancy between where we ought to have been by now and where we have actually come. I may not throw teenage tempter tantrums at my stupid siblings any longer, but I still complain when my boy's shoes come untied (again). At the same time, chronicling the effects of God's kindness reveals how much further we have come than we would have had God not show that grace by which we were made able to stand. I may still complain when my boy's shoelaces remain perpetually uncoupled, but it doesn't take me very long to repent of it, nor do I seem to fall so easily prey to the temptation as once I did.

In short, it is not quite enough to "think of others" in order to do well by them as instruments of growth in their sanctification. One must "consider oneself rightly" which certain requires a healthy dose of remembering, counting, even reveling in all the various ways Christ's love for us has patiently shaped us through all of our deficiencies and recalcitrance in order to go and do likewise.

On the self and desire

Christianity is full of apparently paradoxical statements. The appearance is, I believe, a product of our own incapacity for the truth--an incapacity somewhat derivative of our finitude (we don't possess a nature fully capable) and moreso derivative of our pervasive and total corruption (what nature we have has been destroyed in its capacities). It doesn't make sense that "he who seeks to save his life shall lose it, while he who seeks to give up his life shall find it" because we have been imprisoned by our own aberrant desires, rendering whatever capacity for understanding that could be used subject to that aberration.

Consider the apparent paradox of determinate freedom. Some have argued that true freedom requires the will to be free from all constraints, free from the determining influence of anything that is not the autonomous, individual will or desire. Freedom means choosing as my desire is directed by my desire alone. May other factors offer themselves up for influencing that choice? Surely, but they cannot be said to in any way move the will toward one or another option in the choosing. The will remains self-determining. And in being entirely free of all external determination, the individual who wills is self-defining by virtue of the free choices made. A claim to aseity seems a necessary implication of this view.

Christianity, however, asserts the entire givenness of created being, and, in the fullness of time, the sons of God shall be revealed only as they see (and I think "see" is a metaphor for know, here) Christ face-to-face, that is, unveiled because the corruption that blinds will be completely removed. For the Christian, the self, like being, is entirely given. It comes from God the Father, is imaged in Christ Jesus the Son, and is accomplished by the power of the Holy Spirit. The Christian self is entirely determined by an Other that is not the self, not the individual chosen by the autonomous choices of the will. The Christian identity is received rather than taken, discovered rather than invented--it is the result of surprise rather than contrivance. The oddity of the givenness, and the paradox that arises out of our finitude rather than our sinfulness, is that amidst all of the givenness of the self, the individual is fully participating in the revelation of his identity. There are analogies that help to illustrate this idea, but I have yet to find a definition or description that satisfies rational criteria for explanation (not that there isn't one, or that it hasn't already been found--I can speak only for the places where I have looked!).

Practically, for the Christian, the paradoxical aspect of entire givenness and full participation comes in relinquishing our corrupted desire to be self-determinate and self-defining. Our natural desires are inherently self-oriented. We put our own desires as a priority, we consider ourselves before others, we think in terms of what will benefit ourselves more easily and more willingly than we think in terms of what will benefit others. This is enslavement given the nature of reality. Since our selves are entirely given, we cannot find ourselves by seeking our own desires. It is a vicious circle, and one that cannot avoid importing (whether consciously or unconsciously) things from others that we observe. The lie that I can make myself, even through imitation, fails to recognize that I may be given something other than what I would choose. Let me illustrate.

For most of my childhood I fashioned myself as a professional athlete. My parents largely indulged my efforts by continually driving me to practices and games, waiting long hours after practice was over while I worked extra to improve my skills, and by supporting my decisions for pursuing the sport beyond high school. In college I retained the desire and, although I had to reconcile myself to the possibility of some alternative because I was not given a scholarship to play, I walked-on and redshirted my first year, all the while continuing to work and cultivate my efforts toward the image of "professional athlete." When it became increasingly clear during my time on the team that I would never become a professional athlete bitterness and resentment became the consistent pattern of response to my circumstances. Far from being "free" in my own choices, I was driven by emotions that I did not enjoy, but had not the will to put away so long as that will was fixated upon the false image of the self I had chosen. However, when God broke my will of its clinging to this false image, I was liberated to both enjoy the sport in the capacity that God had graciously granted to me to participate in it, and I was free to receive a new and as yet undiscovered self of what God had in store that I had been blind to. Although I did not receive this discovery with the surprise of an excited child eager to imagine and receive limitless joy offered by the Father, that too was available to me. It was not until my desire died that the self God was fashioning for me could be resurrected unto my understanding.

The Christian life is full of many such deaths because of our idol-making tendencies--crafting selves for ourselves rather than receiving our true selves from the knowledge of God in Christ. The self-seeking that derives from the unpurified will is enslaved to the passions that arise from unfulfilled (or unsatisfying) desires. The self-receiving that derives from the purified will--the will that anticipates God's moving and shaping of the self in ways unexpected and better than expectation--anticipates and receives the surprises of God's Providence with thankfulness and joy at the chance of discovering anew what it is that God is giving to us--our true selves; the selves that look just like Him.

A Thought Experiment: Emulating Sparta

Occasionally I have the opportunity to listen to lectures online, and I've been progressing slowly, sporadically, but enjoyably through the free Yale lecture series on Ancient Greece. Today I was listening to the lecture by Dr. Kagan on Sparta, which was and remains famous for its intensive, rigorous, dedication to their polis; as well as their militaristic methods for maintaining it.

It is difficult to not be at once both impressed and appalled by the Spartans. It is impressive that a people would be so unified in mind and purpose to organize their entire society around such a distinct and vividly portrayed ideal. It is appalling when you see some of the lengths to which they went, and some of the strange results that were reported to have occurred.

For instance, Dr. Kagan relates a story told by one of the ancient historians about a Spartan youth. Spartans in training were fed only enough to survive and be fit for their tasks, but no more. They often sought to hunt and steal food, but if caught were severely punished. Once, a Spartan youth had caught a ferret and was preparing to kill it, but at the same moment the call to forms ranks was sounded. The boy, rather than lose his meal, stuffed the ferret into his cloak and joined the ranks. As the boy stood motionless awaiting inspection, the ferret began to eat into the boy's side. The boy, trained to ignore pain for whatever mental purpose was required, remained motionless. Eventually the ferret chewed his way to one of the boy's vital organs, and the boy dropped dead in the ranks.

Whether or not such a story is true, it is striking portrait of the mastery of mind over body that results from the rigorous training program through which each Spartan boy was made to pass. It is also a striking portrait of the strange abominations that can result from rigorous devotion to a misplaced ideal. The Spartan youth had been trained to care so little for his flesh as to allow it to be destroyed for the sake of what eventually cost him that which he would preserve. Whether the fault is in the boy or the training is less my present concern that the potential good consequences of a rigorous devotion to a set of ideals, which is accompanied by training equal to the task.

What would it look like for the Church of God to be so zealously committed to the cause of reconciling the world to Christ the King of Kings that every implementation of their collective effort was designed to realize that ideal?

Self-serving vs. Selfish

I've been in an ongoing discussion with some of my students and a colleague about the difference between self-service and selfishness. The Bible is full of appeals to rewards that an individual would desire, and its authors simply assume that there is no contradiction between doing something for another that is also benefiting oneself in the short or long term.

Post-Kantian ethics introduces an alternative premise that ruins this assumption. Kant basically argued that virtue is the fulfillment of a duty apart from any consideration for what one may gain from its fulfillment. We ought not to obey a law because we will be rewarded. We ought to obey a law simply because it is right to do so--it is the most rational choice.

But even Jesus endured the cross, "for the joy that was set before him," and the eternal covenant between the Father and the Son was an agreement that rewarded the Son (with the Father and the Spirit) with glory upon the conditions of the covenant. If God Himself is righteous in seeking His own good through the lavishing of good upon others, why should we, as God's image-bearers, consider ourselves bound to a "higher" standard? Really, Kant's standard isn't higher, but rather inhuman. God created men with wills and affections that cooperate with his rational mind to engage in appropriate worship of the Triune God. A Christian should not simply obey out of a sense of duty to the rationally correct choice (although that would be better than disobedience and dereliction of duty!). Rather, the Christian is motivated out of a sense of thanksgiving for what God has given to him, and out of a desire to please God. It is also the case that the Christian obeys from a hope that his obedience will be rewarded by the Father.

The idea of working for a reward smacks of "works righteousness" to the ear of many Christians. Since we cannot "earn our salvation," it is foolish to think of works as a kind of reward, so the sentiment goes. But there is a misconception in the nature of works under this view. Works are something that follow upon salvation, not something that precedes it. A salvation that did not include the fruit of good works would be a salvation that does not save. For what else is the Christian saved into but obedience and wholehearted effort to do that which is right before God and men? No one rescues a plant from withering without expecting it to produce fruit. I didn't adopt my two oldest boys in order for them to languish in idleness. Nor does our Heavenly Father deliver us from death that we might remain stagnant or frozen in our affections or will to do. Rather, God has prepared for us works beforehand, that we may walk in them. Paul refers to the Philippians as his crown. There is a real sense in which the good works we do are really only a benefit to ourselves in a secondary way, because a real work of good never benefits a single, isolated individual. Even if one of the works I do is to cultivate my soul through spiritual discipline, it must of necessity please God to be more like Him, and it must of necessity spill out into the relationships God has put me in. Are not more loving relationships a type of reward? Is not the pleasure of our Heavenly Father a reward? Can we say that our progress in sanctification is not a reward? Is any Christian capable of maintaining that such rewards ought not to be pursued, desired, or otherwise worked out in fear and trembling?

It would take a fairly complex argument to do so, I should think. I'm still waiting to hear one from any of my students, in any case.

When Reformation isn't enough

I have been steaming along in Sunday school trying to reach the end of 2 Kings before the summer is out. We've been studying 1 and 2 Kings since last year, and it has been a profitable study for me, and I hope and pray for the students as well.

This past week we read about Josiah's reforms. The last hundred or so years of Judah's history is quite a roller coaster ride. Hezekiah exhibits faith in God worthy of David, institutes religious reforms, and manages to see Assyria pushed back for a time. Manasseh plunges the land into its worst idolatry ever, comparable only to Jeroboam of Israel, who overturned every category of the worship of the Lord God in order to set up his own religion in the hopes of keeping the northern tribes from turning back to Jerusalem and the tribe of Judah. Manasseh may be the worst king of Judah, but Josiah is probably the best since David. He purges the land of idolatry, reestablishes the covenant and the Law, and holds the first Passover since the time of the judges. In terms of the history of the Divided Kingdom and the message of the prophets to the people to turn from their sins and repent, Josiah's reforms represent the pinnacle of faithful obedience.

But.

Despite the fervency and extent of Josiah's reforms, the Lord God was unwilling to relent in dragging Judah into exile.

It is a sobering consideration to think that the best efforts at reform can still result in circumstances that are painful, unsavory, or even destructive. Doesn't the Lord God delight in showing mercy? Isn't His ultimate purpose to beautify the Bride of Christ? Isn't it true that when the people humble themselves and repent that the Lord will cause them to be restored and make them prosper? Of course each of these questions demand an affirmative response, and yet it is not contradictory for the Lord to delay, withhold, and otherwise forestall mercy and restoration, and for the express purpose of beautifying the Church. One can say it brings a deeper sense of humility, or of gratitude, or a host of other generalizations that may be true enough as far as they go. But the ultimate purpose remains unchanging, and there is no circumstance, and even no sin that does not serve to further the realization of that purpose. The Lord God suffered the Church to endure the malicious persecutions of Saul in order that the Paul He was fashioning would harvest a multitude. Did those who died from Saul's sin have less of God's mercy, or was it rather of a different tone and temper? Was Jeremiah less favored of God because he was called to preach the embracing of exile in a time of peace, prosperity, and relative stability? Or consider the Lord Jesus Christ, who bore far worse than any member or community within the Church. Is He not the Most Highly Favored? Yet he suffered the most, and lived the purest.

The simple reality is that our lot in life is particular while the promises of God are general. Their realization is assured, but the specifics of that realization must necessarily differ as each member of the body in the purposes of history differs. Who can fathom the depths of God's wisdom in these matters? It is a fearful thought to consider that the Reformation of faithfulness, whether individual or corporate, could still lead the individual or group into an exile that has steadily solidified itself in the destiny of a nation so long rebellious. But it is a comforting thought to know that even in such a case as that, the Lord God has not abandoned His Bride, nor left His own to go without His presence.

Principles of the first order

I've been thinking a lot about the proper order of things recently, and in particular the proper order of things that should concern the Christian mind, motives, and efforts. If you randomly select several Christian denominations, you are likely to find that each one differs in what it emphasizes as "first order" principles. I don't mean "first order doctrines," although, unfortunately, those things do sometimes differ. It is less often the case, however, that you see Christians disagree that the Trinity is the most basic of Christian beliefs, followed by the definition of Christ's divinity and humanity, the personality of the Holy Spirit, and other issues directly relating to the nature of the God we worship. It makes sense that any religion that is intellectually rigorous would acknowledge the priority of defining its object of worship, not only for the positive function of understanding what it is one is worshipping, but also for the negative function of distinguishing the object of worship from alternative objects (false gods) and erroneous conceptions of the true object (heresies).

Rather, by "first order principles," I mean those aspects of Christianity that Christians like to emphasize as distinctive of their particular communion. When one moves into the questions of what such "first order beliefs" ought to be, and how those translate into the daily living of Christians in God's overarching purposes, things become quite a bit murkier. Just as Aslan counsels Jill when she is up on the mountain in Aslan's country that the signs she is to remember will not appear as clear when she is in the fog of the world below, so Christians too find that the clearest of doctrines in their intellectual consideration them become murkier when they are applied in the "darkened glass" of this present life. Or better yet, one wonders whether any systematic or universal approach is taken in the development of first order principles? What are the prerequisite principles God has given for us to know as Christians, in order that we may properly integrate all that God has revealed to us, and for the purposes He has given us to follow, obediently?

The following is my attempt to identify and explicate three basic prerequisites of consistent Christianity that are consonant with a Biblical understanding of reality, and therefore are necessary and sufficient for propagating a healthy Church in the midst of a world full of alternatives and errors that will ultimately undermine Christianity and destroy the health of the Church. Let's call these "principles of the first order."

1. Scriptural Presuppositionalism. The first principle has been a facet of the Reformation tradition from the beginning, but has been most explicitly formulated of late by Cornelius Van Til and Gordon Clark in the field of apologetics. Scriptural Presuppositionalism is a first order principle because it precludes the adulteration of God's revelation to man. Unless one begins and ends one's thoughts upon the authority and content of Scripture, one will have an alternative and competitive authority in its place. Christ is clear that one cannot serve two masters, and that man is to live by every word that proceeds from God (Matt. 6:24 and Matt. 4:4, respectively). If one does not begin and end with Scripture, then there is another master he serves and another word he lives by, whether wholly or in part. This first order principle corresponds to the philosophical category of epistemology, or what concerns knowledge.

2. Theonomic Ethics. The second principle has also been around at least since the Reformation, and even the major opponents of the capital "T" theonomy (e.g. Meredith Kline) acknowledge that the Westminster Confession of Faith is a theonomic document. I don't think it is necessary to have a fully developed jurisprudence based upon OT and NT law in order to fulfill the requirements of this second principle. The main point is that for the Church to thrive it must love God's law as summarized in the Ten Commandments, and wish to see others conform to God's law, whether out of genuine love, or fear of divine or divinely ordained (i.e. the State) retribution. Some may grow antsy at such a suggestion, but consider that few people (and none who are relatively powerless) would want to live in a society that did not actively seek to curtail blasphemy, disregard for authority, murder, lying, stealing, adultery, etc. Also, theonomy follows upon Scriptural Presuppositionalism by logical implication. If one's authority begins and ends with Scripture, then one's ethics and code of laws must also be Scripturally derived. What man or group of men will be capable of providing laws and a code of justice equal in wisdom and goodness to those laid down by God Himself? The Church need not agree on whether a fornicator should be executed or only pay remuneration in order to agree upon the necessity of having the State actively seek to prevent fornication. Christians who aren't theonomists seem to unwittingly acknowledge the legitimacy of theonomy in their opposition to things like State mandates for the distribution of birth control and STD vaccinations to children. Is not their presupposition that the State ought to curtail rather than enable fornication?* And the point is not to argue that laws will change hearts, save families, and make societies regenerated. But a society that honors God's law, even if only outwardly, will be a more just society than one that disdains God's law. How much more so for the Church, who is the bride of Christ and beholden to her Husband's commands? This first order principle corresponds to the philosophical category of ethics, or what concerns duties.

3. Postmillennial Eschatology. The third principle is predates the Reformation and it has been the prominent view in the Church until recent years. Like all other eschatologies it acknowledges Christ's sovereign rule and power over all principalities and powers, whereby all principalities and powers shall ultimately be subdued "under the feet" of the conquering King Jesus. The main difference is that postmillennialism further acknowledges that the Church has a direct role in the King's conquest, through the baptizing and discipling of "all nations," according to the "Great Commission" given to the disciples by Christ after His resurrections. Christ first declares that all authority is His, then, upon the basis of that authority He gives the command to disciple the nations, and finally, He ensures their success by promising His presence in their efforts "until the end of the age." That Christ shall reign until all enemies have been put under his feet (the last enemy being death) is of key importance. Interestingly, in Romans 16:20 Paul tells the Church that God will soon crush Satan under their feet! Paul seems to expect that the Spirit is working presently toward that end through the efforts of the Church, rather than forestalling conquest until a cataclysmic end-game-rescue by Christ, whether after a spiraling diminution of the Church in a increasingly sinful world, or by a relatively, but not world-wide effectual influence of the Church. The inseparability of the Head of the Church (Christ) from the Body of the Church (Christians) is another prima facie argument for postmillennialism, if you take the time to think it through. Also, one need not lapse into progressivism (the life of the Church in the world grows better and better uninterruptedly through the passage of time), or perfectionism (the Church grows more and more holy until there is no sin left, and no unbelievers, either) in order for postmillennialism to be true. Postmillennialism does not dictate the pattern of development of the Church in history intermediately, but it does indicate the long term implications of the work of the Holy Spirit in the Church and the world up to the end. This first order principle corresponds to the philosophical category of metaphysics**, or what concerns existence.

I've self-consciously limited myself to three "first-order" principles that I think are necessary for consistent Christianity and a thriving Church. If understood properly and consistently related, second order principles that might register high on various denominational lists would fall into their proper place. For example, I would argue that covenant theology is central to the proper interpretation of Scripture. Indeed, I would argue that covenant theology is what Scripture itself reveals as its basic structure for God's relationship with man. Therefore, if I accept Scriptural Presuppositionalism, it follows by logical implication that I will arrive at covenant theology. Some may wonder whether my attention to logical implication is warranted, or even supported by the principles I've outlined as "first order." Again, I think Scriptural Presuppositionalism accounts for the priority of logic in accounting for or judging what the Scriptures principally teach. What the Bible reveals about the Godhead, its use of logic in revealing God's thoughts to man, and the assertion of the priority of truth (which, though not strictly discovered by logic, is nevertheless evaluated logically for firm understanding) all make logic a necessity. I recognize that admitting as much does not guaranty that any of us will use logic properly, but I also affirm that those who take logic seriously will come to more logical conclusions than those who disdain logic, or find it largely uninteresting or irrelevant.

____

*Certainly some people will refrain from fornication, or at least pursue it less vigorously if the potential consequences of it were not otherwise prevented.

**Some may grow curious as to the categorization of postmillennialism as a metaphysic. Strictly speaking postmillennialism is a matter of history, which has to do with the progress of events in the world, and not the nature of the world in terms of its being. Fair enough. However, since the Bible itself rarely speaks in metaphysical terms (at least in terms of the "isness" of things), the import of considering "what the being of the world is," ought to be conceived differently. God's chief concern for man's understanding of the world seems to be its teleological purpose and the means by which God is working the world out toward that end. In other words, God doesn't tell man the "isness" of a tree, but He does tell man that he is responsible to tend and keep the tree in order to please God*** and thereby manifest His glory. Figuring out how to "tend and keep" the tree is the "physics" and knowing the nature of man's relation to the tree ("tend and keep") and his purpose in that relation ("to please God") is the "metaphysics." Teleologically speaking, postmillennialism is the doctrine of God's cosmological purpose, and cosmology is a fundamental branch of metaphysics.

***The phrase "to please God" here is kept simple for the sake of brevity and ease of understanding. There are manifest distinctions and intermediary means that lead up to this overarching end, which deserve to be contemplated thoroughly. The main point is that all of the many, many ways in which God desires us to live before Him in the world are all tied up in the purpose to bring Himself pleasure, or glory.

Reflections on Poverty

I recently took a trip to Philadelphia for an academic conference. It was my first trip to Philadelphia, and I was happy to spend some time seeing the sights and enjoying some of the particularities of the city. It was the fourth time I've been able to attend this particular conference, the previous ones being in Memphis (2006), Seattle (2008), and Minneapolis (2010). There are always unique experiences in a new city, and Philadelphia was no different. I was surprised at how friendly many of the people were. The concierge desk had several folks who appeared to really enjoy their work, and to have a genuine love for the city and its attractions. Although there was some of the stereotypical inhospitable demeanor of northern folks, I was pleasantly surprised to have a couple of good conversations with restaurant owners and workers.

The most memorable experiences were my encounters with the homeless people in the city, of which there were a larger number than in any of the previous cities where the conference has been held (though I can hardly speak for Memphis, as I was only there for a night and a day). Three particular encounters are of note.

The first occurred while a friend and I were walking by city hall. As we were gazing up at the high clock tower a man dressed in shabby clothes, wearing a ball cap and sunglasses moved toward us and spoke a friendly greeting. He proceeded to ask us where we were from and began to give us a tour of sorts of the building. After his short presentation he told us that he was homeless and that he gave these tours as a job to make some money. He told us that he had melanoma, and he showed us the sores on his arms and upper torso. He mentioned a wife and child, and said he wanted the money to feed them. I declined to give him money, since I have in the past been duped into giving money to those who only used it for alcohol or worse things. I did offer to buy him a meal, or take him to the local CVS where there were a few groceries he could buy. The sad part was that he wasn't interested in food, and though he pleaded with us that he wasn't a drunk or a drug addict, he was unwilling to "break his routine," as he called it, and accept the charity we were willing to offer. After his last refusal he peaceably let us move on our way.

The second occurred as I was walking from the conference hotel to Tenth Presbyterian Church for Sunday worship. I was by myself, and as I passed a couple (a young man and woman) on the sidewalk the man (who turned out to be the same age as I) asked if I could spare some money for food, as they hadn't eaten in awhile. I told him that I wouldn't give him money, but that I'd be glad to buy them a meal, and he happily agreed. Providentially, the corner I had just passed had an IHOP, so we went there together as a trio. As we waited to be seated I was able to talk with the couple. I showed them some pictures of my family and asked a bit about their situation. As it turns out, the young lady had gotten pregnant at 16 by another man and had a seven-year-old daughter. The father had gotten custody, but was good enough to allow her to visit, though it wasn't as easy as when her mother had the child. She had met Greg (the man in our present company) during a shared stint in rehab, and they had been together for the past three years. Sophie and Greg had been doing well, and had a baby girl about six months into their relationship. Greg was working at a truck-loading job, and they had a place to live and money to live on. The baby got sick and eventually died of septic shock, and it was then that the couple, in their grief, descended into poverty and homelessness. Presently they were trying to get birth certificates so that they could apply for social security cards and then get federal assistance. As they shared their circumstances I encouraged them to seek out a neighborhood church where, I hoped, they would find people willing to help them either in their quest for federal assistance, or even better, who would help them to get back on their feet and find full-time employment. For their part they agreed that seeking more directed help from others would be a good plan, and as the food arrived I requested to pray for them, to which they agreed. As I was departing I saw the name "Abigail" tattooed on Sophie's neck and I asked her if that was the name of her departed child. She said it was and mentioned that her other girl was named Hannah (also my wife's name), adding that she had been told that both of these names were Biblical names. I shared with them about who Hannah and Abigail were in the Bible, and they seemed surprised and, I hope, encouraged. After the worship service I enquired about the church's ministries to the homeless, and I took down the information in the hopes of finding Greg and Sophie on my way back to the hotel, but I never saw them again.

The third episode involved a middle-aged homeless man who vigorously sought to shine the shoes of myself and two friends as we were taking our luggage to a separate hotel for the last night of our conference (having only been able to secure three nights at the conference hotel). He was quite adamant about the poor state of our shoes and his own inability at procuring work for that day (it was almost 7 p.m.). He told us that he wanted to get food for himself, so I offered, as I had the others, to buy him a meal. He insisted on shining our shoes, promoting his own high standard of work ethic and frequently making reference to God. He agreed to wait while we checked into the hotel and put our things away, and we reluctantly agreed to let him shine two pairs of our shoes. While he was working he not only did a fine job of shining our shoes, but he shared what he considered his wisdom, even singing two original songs he wrote. One song was about treasures on earth and treasures in heaven, the hook being, loosely paraphrased, "I may not have treasures on earth, but God's got a plate for me." The other was a song he wrote for President Obama, and the hook was, again loosely paraphrased, "we got to rebuild America from the bottom up." He spoke of his seven children and of his hardships at a previous job. His favorite theological maxim, which he cited often, was "You've got to let go, and let God." These words proved ominous later, however. When he finished his work and we began to walk, I asked him where he would like to eat. He mentioned his work ethic and spoke of fair wages and requested that we pay him cash. I told him that it was the meal we had promised, and that promise was made without seeking his services, which we accepted only upon his insistence. He sought to haggle with us some more, citing more abstract principles, including his theological maxim, "You need to let go, and let God." He, like the first homeless man, insisted upon his upstanding character, his avoidance of drug and drink, and insisted that our skepticism was an attempt to play God and judge him, rather than "let go, and let God," and give him his due wages. I told him that I wasn't going to let him manipulate us into something other than what we had agreed upon before. He grew more indignant and cited his need to pay rent and to feed his family who was on the other side of town and who wouldn't benefit from his getting a meal. I offered to buy some groceries, as I did for the first homeless man, but he said the groceries were "too expensive here," and mentioned a cheaper grocery across town where he would buy the goods. I told him that I was only going to buy him food or groceries, and he became more hostile, shouting expletives and showing more signs of visible agitation. One of our party gave me some cash and left to go meet his friends who were waiting upon him, and the homeless man, whom we later learned was named Duke, thought that the money was intended for him. Eventually I was able to coax him to a local friend chicken joint that was on the corner (he had wanted Popeye's, which was down in the subterranean train station, but we didn't feel comfortable following his lead, since he was growing more hostile). He got his meal, but he remained indignant, and though I took his hand, looked him directly in the eye, thanked him for his fine work and offered God's blessing to him, he shouted me down saying, "God's already blessing me, don't you see! Why can't you just let go and let God!?" As we parted he looked back at us and said "If you judge me, its over for you," which seemed quite an ominous threat, especially given that he knew where we were staying, but we never saw Duke again after parting.

I was so discouraged in the aftermath of our episode with Duke, having genuinely wanted to believe his high-minded principles and his thoughtful moral maxims. In the end it was no more than a well-practiced routine to prove to "people like us" that he was a man who wasn't simply after charity, who genuinely wanted to care for his family, and who simply did what he could as an entrepreneur with the skill set he possessed. As a fifty-three-year-old man, as he said, I can only wonder how many years he had been perfecting his deceit. I had thought the man from our first encounter had a pretty elaborate con, but Duke's con was by far the more advanced. Every word, every look, every far-flung maxim was calculated to our white, middle-class, Puritan work-ethic mentality. He even went so far as to mention his willingness to play the deferential "working boy" to his previous boss ("so long as I get paid," he added). I remain astounded at the lengths to which a man may go, the ingenuity with which he will perfect his skill, and the doggedness he will display in his pursuit for the desire prize when the outcome of all his aims is enslavement to whatever habit has dominion over his soul. I was glad that Duke took the meal, though I'm not sure how much he needed it. Food is no solution to his poverty, any more than it will solve the problems of Greg and Sophie. The habits to which any of us are enslaved, whether it be drugs, or sex, or the praise of men, or the power to control others--these habits are part and parcel the corruption we inhabit in our fleshly nature, inherited from our fallen parent. So much of the greatness of God's image remains intact, as was so evident in my encounters with Duke and with the first homeless man, but that greatness was enslaved to desires that had plunged those men into self-destruction from which they were, and I was, powerless to rescue them. I have no clue as to what the Spirit of God was about in moving my path into the path of these homeless people. I know that I could have done more to promote Christ to each of them, though I certainly could have done less, and worse, too. I am thankful that the Lord allowed Greg and Sophie to receive the food I was willing to offer, and I cling to their graciousness in receiving that gift even more in light of the experiences that bookended my time with them.

I pray that God's Spirit would not leave any of the people I met in the despair of poverty, and especially the poverty of the soul that is so much more evident in the absence of earthly goods. None of us have in ourselves the equipment for our own deliverance and for achieving the abundance of joy we all desire.


Thus says the LORD:
“Heaven is my throne, and the earth is my footstool;
what is the house that you would build for me, and what is the place of my rest?
All these things my hand has made, and so all these things came to be, declares the LORD.
But this is the one to whom I will look:
he who is humble and contrite in spirit and trembles at my word.


Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.

When words fail

In times of grief and loss I often feel, as I assume many others do, at a loss for words. Part of the feeling stems from the underlying desire to say something helpful, something that will ease the hurt, and to not say something that worsens the pain, increases the difficulty, or offends those whom we wish to care for.

There is a dilemma, a two-fold problem, because one doesn't want to try to speak so "profoundly" as to be vacuous, nor does one want to speak so "simply" as to be trite. One can say too much in saying too little, and say too little in a flood of words. Nor is it best to simply say "what is on one's heart," since grief and loss often cause a myriad of emotions, not all of which ought to receive expression, least of all to those who are closest to the pain. None of us want to be like Job's "friends."

It is a somewhat better approach to think about what you would want to hear if you were closest to the pain. As a Christian, I would want to hear most from God, and so what would be more appropriate than verses that speak of God's faithfulness, the pain experienced by His people, or by Himself, and other words that God has revealed to us of Himself and of ourselves, which we find in the Scriptures. Of course some thought should be put into the selection or selections of Scripture. (If one were consoling an unbeliever, then one's choice of Scripture would need a separate kind of scrutiny.)

I would also want to hear from those who love me. It is a tendency of some to avoid people who are grieving. Sometimes the motive for doing so is obviously selfish; to avoid any of the discomfort of being close to loss and pain. Sometimes the motive is less obviously selfish; to avoid out of fear of doing something to make things worse. A helpful analogy here is to consider a bruised plant. A bruised plant is in a precarious situation. If it is handled too roughly, it may break. If it is handled not at all, it may wither, or break from lack of support, or both. A bruised plant needs attention, it needs care, but it requires a wise hand. The point is that the more love one has for the plant, the more necessary it is to attend to it, since love is itself a governor of the type of care that acts wisely. It must also be said that such love isn't an emotion (though emotions may attend it), but a manner of relationship with consequent volitions. Moreover, the plant needs most of all the care of the one who has provided the most love already, that is, the one who has poured out his effort to cultivate the plant. The proportion to which you have loved the persons closest to the pain of loss and grief is the proportion to which you have been equipped to speak words of comfort with wisdom.

I would also want to hear from those with whom my life is shared. One of the difficulties of coping with loss and grief is that it is with us wherever we are, including the workplace, the church, and other venues where our lives take place. Presumably there will be some in these venues who love me, and thus fall into the previous consideration. However, there are also the many acquaintances with whom we have frequent contact, but little by way of a loving relationship. It is important that these acquaintances don't draw themselves further away from those in grief, since the experience of grief is alienating in and of itself. To compound the alienation would only worsen the impact, I should think. However, I would think that an increased amount of intimacy should be avoided, on the basis of wisdom. Again, a bruised plant is vulnerable, and the acquaintance will be far less capable of providing wise care where those closer to those grieving can offer their love. I suppose I would want acquaintances to remain such, offering their condolences and continuing to treat me as an acquaintance without ignoring the fact that my life has been radically altered. I suppose I would also want  a loved one to run "interference" for me by proactively seeking to communicate with acquaintances to let them know in what ways they can offer support and sympathy, so as to keep me from being inundated with attention, which can be wearying (at least for someone like me).

If you have other suggestions, or think mine could stand improvement, please leave a message. There is no better time to do so than there is right now.

On Jonathan Edwards On Being

I ran across a reminder this morning of why one must always take great care in reading any particular author, but especially of those who are very careful in drawing distinctions. Jonathan Edwards is such an author, whose mind is at once so far-reaching and yet so close to the point before it that he is able to account for many distinctions that a lesser mind could not conceive. If there was one mind other than Christ's that I would seek to emulate, it would be a toss up between Augustine and Edwards.

Anyway, to the point. Here is a conclusion to a section from Edwards' philosophical notes On Being:

This infinite and omnipresent being cannot be solid. Let us see how contradictory it is to say that infinite being is solid. For solidity surely is nothing but resistance to other solidities. Space is this necessary, eternal, infinite, and omnipresent being. We find that we can with ease conceive how all other beings should not be. We can remove them out of our minds and place some other in the room of them, but space is the very thing that we can never remove and conceive of its not being. If a man would imagine space anywhere to be divided so as there should be nothing between the divided parts, there remains space between, notwithstanding. And so the man contradicts himself. And it is self-evident, I believe, to every man that space is necessary, eternal, infinite, and omnipresent. But I had as good speak plain. I have already said as much as that space is God. And it is indeed clear to me that all the space there is, not proper to body, all the space there is without the bounds of the creations, all the space there was before the creation, is God Himself. And nobody would in the least stick at it if it were not because of the gross conceptions we have of space.

Edwards' conclusion sounds controversial. Space is God. Historically, the Church has understood God to be "outside" or "beyond" both time and space. The reason for this restriction was because time and space have predominantly been conceived with respect to material bodies. But Edwards is careful to preface his conclusion with arguments that remove the problem of solidity (i.e. material bodies) from consideration. God (the infinite and omnipresent being) cannot be a solid, for He would have to be in resistance to some other solid or solids. He would not be the simple, self-existent, and eternally one God. There would be another or others that are not God against which God would be existent and defined. Thus, God is not a solid.

But here is where Edwards' brilliance shines. Our minds cannot conceive of anything irrespective of space. We need the concept or attribute of space as a basis for thought. The Biblical knowledge that Edwards' possesses provides the solution: space must be God, for what else but God is a necessary precondition of thought? He will later have to clarify what he means by distinguishing space proper to body and space within the bounds of creation, but all that space not so defined is an attribute of God. As Paul says, quoting a wise pagan, in God we live and move and have our being. He is our space, or maybe as Augustine would say, the home we inhabit. Is it any wonder that men, however much they might wish to deny God or escape Him, cannot, for their being that particular thing in the space of all that is, is their being in God. All souls are restless until they find their rest in God.

Here is where some might consider Edwards a full-blown pantheist. But for a thing exist within something else is not the same as for the something else to exist within a thing. I may inhabit a house without the house being in me. A thought may exist within my mind without being predicated of my essence. Pantheism only follows from a misconception of space, a misconception Edwards laments at the close of the passage.

I find that I, unlike Edwards, am too prejudiced a thinker. I too often want to have a party-line to play, a conclusion fixed by some other, more-reliable thinker, so that I may rest in his conclusion. But what if Edwards had not allowed himself the freedom of thought to examine space in ways hitherto neglected? Of course speculation has its dangers as well as does narrow=mindedness. But perhaps here is where the Anselmic, Athanasian, Augustinian dictum comes to our aid: believe in order to understand. There are basic truths that any child can understand about God, and indeed Christians all over the world teach their children to believe these things in order that they may understand; and also frequently repeat that they never be forgotten (even unto old age). But to mature we must also allow our minds to seek understanding that broadens the scope of our belief. If I may be permitted a physical analogy. In weightlifting, the muscles used to force the weights undergo microscopic tears in their fibers--there is a breakdown of their previous unity. But it is in these microscopic tears that the space necessary for muscle growth is opened up. With rest and good diet added to the weightlifting, the muscles grow into the spaces opened by the tearing down produced by the force exerted by the muscles. The growth of our understanding is similarly grown. When we force our minds to consider thoughts that are difficult, and may even cause spaces of doubt or the unknown to open, there is created space for the nourishment of recovery in the things we do know to grow into these spaces and increase our understanding.

Edwards pursues an observation about space that seems to contradict the common faith of Christianity -- space seems to be necessary, eternal, infinite, and omnipresent, but we affirm that God is not bound by or contained by space. Instead of retreating he pursues the problem, drawing upon what he knows well already, in order to seek an understanding that reconciles the problem. The result is a conception of space that not only reconciles the problem, but opens up opportunities for developing more understanding on immaterial space.

I realize that I'm dramatizing a bit here. Edwards may or may not have undergone the sort of process I describe above. However, what troubles me in the current age is how quickly many in the Church are to censure the intellectual weightlifting that is essential to sanctified spiritual understanding. Yes, heresies abound. Yes, novelties can lead to great error. Yes, yes, yes, to a thousand other dangers that persist whether or not Christians pursue the exercise I here recommend. Augustine once said that rhetorical abilities should be pursued by Christians so that the truth would have a better expression in its defense against promoters of error who were already using eloquence. The same is true, I think, of intellectual inquiry. The thousand and one ways in which it can result in error to not negate the (at least) several ways in which it directs us to greater understanding of the truth.

A brief comment on culture

I have encountered (throughout my undergraduate career, up through my graduate studies, and seeming to continue without abatement) a consistent appeal among rhetorically savvy covenant-breakers as well as covenant-conscious theologians and pastors to the need, the necessity, of communicating a message in a way that "the culture" can understand, digest, and ultimately find persuasive.

The banality of such a claim is made interesting by the vast range of interpretations for what it means to communicate in a culturally relevant manner. For some it means capitulating wholeheartedly to the desires of the particular audience. For others it means addressing a timeless truth to the particular aspect of an audience's culture than needs to be cultivated accordingly. In other words, the spectrum on one side of communicating to culture seeks to make a message identical to that culture's affections, whereas the other side of the spectrum seeks to change a culture's affections by means of communication.

Most attempts fall somewhere in between the two poles, but what such mingling entails is syncretism, or the combination of culturally accepted claims and counter-cultural claims.

First of all, anyone who wants to speak to a culture has to have some idea of what the culture is in fact. In other words, the speaker is interpreting culture according to some principles combined with some empirical study (even if it is as minimal as his own personal experience). Acknowledging as much simply means that there is a worldview behind the speaker's assessment of whatever culture he is addressing. Insofar as the speaker's worldview is significantly different from the audience he addresses, he is already on the road toward the cultural change end of the spectrum.

Why is this so? It is so because no speaker will consciously speak against what he believes to be right, and insofar as what the speaker believes to be right runs counter to the culture of his audience, he will make claims that push the culture toward his own viewpoint. The extent to which the speaker is self-conscious of his own viewpoint in relation to the audience is the extent to which he is able to push the envelope, if he so chooses.

Second of all, what determines the speaker's aim to synthesize his message to the culture's affections or to press the need to change their affections stems directly from the speaker's willingness to have his message accepted or rejected by the audience. A speaker whose aim is primarily persuasion will find himself commiserating with the culture's affections.

Why is this so? It is so because persuasion seeks identification with the audience in their own terms, and identification with the audience seeks commonalities recognized by the audience as such. In other words, purely persuasive motives will seek to gain the audience's acceptance on grounds they accept, in order to try and pull them toward grounds that they might find objectionable.

The speaker whose aim is primarily proclamation of his own principle (whether self-derived, or derived from an outside authority such as Scripture) will still retain the desire to persuade the audience, but it will be secondary to the aim of portraying the principle in a way that is both accurate and significant to the affections of the audience where they are out of step with the principle.

Why is this so? It is so because the speaker believes that the principle's significance outweighs the desire to have it accepted as true by the audience. The speaker will still attempt to portray the principle in its best possible light, but that aim is governed by the principle itself, and not by its perception amongst the audience.

Recall that the audience's affections may or may not conform to what the principle, which the speaker wishes to convey to them. When seeking to persuade the audience in their own terms, the speaker will allow the principle to be molded in the image of the audience's affections, which is also the impetus for the present culture. Insofar as the speaker does this, the principle is altered to a greater or lesser degree, if not altogether altered. But the speaker who conditions his speech after the principle's self-attesting value and implications will command the audience to abandon their prior affections in favor of the principle's requirements.

In the foregoing, highly generalized discussion, I have treated culture in the context of the speaker's address to an audience. The point has been to highlight that culture is not the aspect which determines beliefs, but the aspect that is determined by beliefs. Cultures can and are changed as the beliefs of individuals within a culture change. My question is this: if cultures reflect belief, rather than determine it, why should the speaker ever self-consciously alter his own belief to conform with culture if he thinks it wrong?

Put differently, why would any preacher of the Gospel EVER wish to be culturally relevant in a culture that has almost entirely abandoned Biblical principles of belief and conduct, faith and practice? Such a preacher may gain the masses, but risks losing his soul.